The Line That Must Not Be Crossed
by dabbling
Summary: Frienship, love, trust, love, friendship. Somewhere in there is a line... Case file, but mostly about the relationship between our two favorite detectives.
1. Chapter 1

The Line That Must Not Be Crossed

"Eighty."

"What?"

"He spent $80 on a DVD player. We didn't find a DVD player in his apartment. Not this brand, anyway."

"A gift for someone?"

"Someone special?"

"Bobby, none of our interviews have revealed that he had any relationships outside of work."

"Still, that DVD player had to go somewhere."

"Toys for Tots?"

"A DVD player?"

"I'm postulating. Play along."

"Okay, fine, he buys an $80 gift for a stranger. I don't think Toys for Tots is the right…venue for that sort of gift."

"Lots of people collect gifts for people at the holidays. Churches, civic clubs, schools… Could take a long time to track it down."

"So we find out which church, civic club, or schools he was affiliated with."

Alex rubbed her temples, but offered him a smile. He was right, it was the only avenue that might lead them somewhere at this point. Headache or not, it was a trail worthy of following.

"You okay?" he asked, noting that she'd been rubbing her temples almost a solid minute.

Alex sighed. "Just a headache. I'll take something for it."

He nodded. "I'll start making some calls."

* * *

><p>"The DVD player wasn't the only thing on this charge we couldn't account for."<p>

"Oh?" Bobby said, pausing with the phone hanging between his ear and his shoulder. He was reorganizing his binder with his hands.

"There are two DVD movies, a cell phone case, a couple of gift cards for clothing stores, and a handful of toys. You get anything yet?"

"How much did he spend… on all that?" Bobby asked, waving his hands in the air.

"Uhm… about $200. Why?"

"He wasn't well off, had a lot of debt… That's a lot of money for a guy like him."

"So you gonna answer my question?" Eames rubbed her temple again.

"Oh, uh… not really. He wasn't a college grad. There's his former high school, and he didn't attend church, but there is a Presbyterian Church down the corner from his building."

"And the guy had no family…"

"None that he was in contact with. His cousin is flying in from Vermont to handle the burial and all. She said she hasn't seen him in 20 years." He shifted in his chair and dialed his phone. After a few moments of waiting, Bobby spoke. "Yeah, I was wondering if you have any, uh, you know, programs going on where someone could donate gifts for a family in need this Christmas?" He stopped and listened. "Okay, thank you. Uh, no, no, that's all right. I'll let my friend know about it. Thank you." He dropped the handset onto the base and looked up at Alex. "I guess we start at the school."

"The Church doesn't…?"

"They collect for Toys for Tots, Senior Services, that kind of thing. Nothing where you would adopt an entire family for Christmas."

"Okay, then. We go to the school." She was a little slower than usual gathering up her things, but they were soon on their way out the door.

"Headache still there?" Bobby asked in the elevator.

"I can't seem to shake it."

"Maybe you're coming down with something."

"God, I hope not. I'm supposed to help my sister cook for Christmas."

Christmas was four days away. They had both been on call for Christmas for the last two years, and Ross had promised them a real holiday this year.

At the SUV, Bobby followed her to the driver's side, which earned him a glare.

"I thought maybe if you didn't feel up to it…" Bobby explained.

Alex shook her head and scoffed. "I'm fine, Goren."

He held up his hands. "Okay, okay." Bobby circled around to his own side of the car and got in.

They met briefly with the principal, who directed them to the school counselor. She was giving a small group of students a cheerful goodbye as she sent them back to their classrooms.

"Mrs. Dietrich, these are detectives Goren and Eames from NYPD. They would like to speak with you about the Christmas donations."

"Of course, thank you, Ms. Wall." She watched the principal turn to leave and shook both Bobby and Alex's hands. Then she invited them into her office.

It was small and crowded with books and in place of the usual knick-knacks, there were unusual toys in occasional spots on the shelves. They sat in one of the hard chairs around a small table where she led her group sessions with her students.

"How can I help you?"

"We understand that people in the community can adopt a family for Christmas, donate the gifts they want…"

"Yes, we've been doing that for years. Most of the recipients are students who qualify for the grant program which provides food and clothing to homeless children. A few of the families are recommended by teachers, due to poverty, or unusual family circumstances—health crises, that sort of thing."

"That's wonderful that you can help them like that," Bobby told her with a smile.

"I wish we could provide more throughout the year instead of only during the holiday season. We do what we can—we send backpacks full of food home with kids every Friday… provide winter coats, hats, and gloves when the weather turns…"

"I'm afraid we've come here under grim circumstances." Alex rubbed her temple, then flicked her eyes Goren's way and abruptly tilted her hand to comb through her hair.

"We're investigating a homicide," Bobby continued for his partner. "And it appears that our victim… may have been… one of your donors."

Her eyes widened. "Oh my God."

"Do you have any records that could link our victim to your program?"

"I write a receipt for the donors, an in-kind donation, and then they can use the information for their taxes…"

Bobby told her the victim's name, and watched her carefully for her response. She didn't seem to react at all to the name, but produced a copy of the receipt and invited them to contact her if they needed anything else.

Alex handed the receipt to her partner and led the way out of the school to the SUV.

Bobby read the receipt and trailed along after her. He did not offer to drive.

"Anything?" she asked as they piled into the car.

"All of our missing items," he announced.

"She didn't seem to know him."

"No, she didn't."

Alex pulled out into traffic, cutting her turn a little close. Bobby looked at her with concern. The headache was affecting her driving.

"Where does that leave us?" Alex asked him. She was happy to let him do all of the thinking. Her head was pounding.

He was quiet a moment, then surprised her by smacking the dash. "Go back to the school," he told her.

Alex was still shaking off the shock of what he'd just done. She glared at him.

"S-sorry," Bobby said meekly. "Maybe the counselor didn't know our victim, but maybe she knew someone else in his circle. Maybe he wasn't the only donor to her program. Maybe someone turned him on to it."

She circled the block and pulled up in front of the school once more. "Okay, but you take this one on your own, okay? I'm gonna try and… you know…" She took a deep breath and rubbed her temples again.

He nodded, stared at her a moment, then quickly got out of the car, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Alex left at the close of the business day. She was getting grumpier by the minute, and Bobby was glad to see her head home. Maybe after a good night's rest she would feel better.<p>

He stayed until 8:00 p.m., researching into the backgrounds of Hugh Paloma's coworkers.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She came in later than usual in the morning, and though she seemed to have more energy than when she left the night before, she still wore a determined look on her face.

Bobby took it all in a quick scan of her from head to waist. "Feeling better?" he asked, though he already knew the truth.

"Sure. Peachy," she lied.

He gave her a chagrined expression and rolled his chair closer to her. "Marla Faust. She also adopted a family at the school."

"She was the one who swore up and down he had no one outside of work."

"She was." Bobby nodded at her, excited. This was beginning to feel like a lead.

"And you know more about her now."

"A lot," he admitted.

Alex sat in her chair, leaned on her elbows and gave him a smile. "Do tell."

"She's been, uh… formally unattached the last three years. Before that, she was embroiled in a nasty divorce that left her in bankruptcy. She's been recovering since she got the job at Simfill."

"But he wasn't flush. He couldn't have been floating her."

"No, but I think he was seeing her. At least for a while."

"He dumped her."

"Maybe," Goren shrugged.

"For another woman."

Bobby rooted through the papers on his desk and held one up. "Marsha Hicks. She worked at Simfill until three months ago."

"You got anything to back this up?" Alex asked.

Bobby emphasized the first word. "We don't have anything—yet."

Alex raked her hand through her hair. "Okay. Which one you want me to step into? Marla or Marsha?" She rolled her eyes. "Sounds like we're investigating the Brady Bunch."

Bobby gave her a grin, and there was an affectionate twinkle in his eye. "I haven't done much digging on Marsha yet. You look into her and I'll go out to visit Ms. Faust."

"No backup?"

He shrugged. "She won't feel threatened," he promised. Alex nodded and Bobby gathered up his things. Before he left, he dropped a medicine bottle on the desk blotter in front of her. "Take care of yourself," he said, offering her a smile.

* * *

><p>Bobby drove out to Simfill in a car from the motorpool. Today he landed a Saturn, which was a tight squeeze for his long legs, but he made it work. They never used their personal vehicles on the job; one look at a license plate and your anonymity off the clock was blown.<p>

Simfill was a strange entity. They ran the office end of things for more than one waste management company. The company had a clean record, but Bobby wondered if everything they did was on the up and up. It seemed suspicious to him that companies would contract out all their purchasing, billing, and sales if they weren't trying to launder something in the process.

He sighed and locked the Saturn with a chirp from the key fob. Even if the company had a sinister side, he wasn't investigating Simfill, he was investigating a homicide, and unless his investigation happened to uncover something fishy in the business, they would likely continue with business as usual.

Marla Faust was in a conference call when he arrived. He was shown to a chair in the lobby and sat tapping his fingers against his crossed legs, alternately cataloging the personalities of the employees he could see and wondering how Eames was feeling.

"Detective Goren? Ms. Faust will see you now." The secretary led him into the woman's office, which wasn't much bigger than the counselor's office at the school. This one, however, was barren. There was only one picture on the wall, an abstract painting that was likely purchased from a hotel auction. A bulletin board was behind the woman's desk, and it held nothing but work-related notes and schedules. Her desk had a phone and a blotter. A yellow legal pad was on top, with a blue ink pen resting across the lines, waiting for use.

He shook her hand and greeted her kindly.

"I thought you had all your answers already," she said, a polite smile on her face. She gestured to the chair in front of the desk, and sat down in her own.

"Well, you know, sometimes we think of a new question, you know, after…"

"I see. It must be fascinating, investigating crimes. I always used to daydream of that job when I was a teenager." She chuckled. "I guess I thought if I carried a handgun," she nodded at the bulge under his suit coat, "no one would mess with me."

Bobby smiled politely, easily fitting her comment into his mental profile of her. "It's not like TV," he said. "A lot of…" he gestured to her, "This. And paperwork. A lot of paperwork." He smiled at her again, broader now that he remembered Eames' comment about the Brady Bunch. "You said Hugh wasn't seeing anyone."

"That's right," Marla answered.

"Except for you," Bobby prodded. "I mean, c'mon, you were coming off that awful divorce. It must have really… helped to have someone to talk to."

She stiffened the moment he started to speak, but his explanation softened her a little. "It was a nasty divorce," she admitted. "I haven't dated since."

Bobby grinned, nodded, and looked around the little office. A window was to his right, letting in some winter sunshine. "I guess you wouldn't call it dating, no. You know, just two friends, out for a drink… or a dinner. Just talking."

"Yes, Hugh was my friend."

"He listened to you."

"Sure he did."

"He helped you through a tough time in your life."

"Detective, we were never romantic, if that's what you're getting at."

"No, no, I understand. I just, you know, I needed to hear you say that. I needed to know."

"We were colleagues, and friends. But nothing more. Surely you can understand that."

Her words hit him like a sucker punch. Had she read something into his relationship with Eames the other day? Bobby forced a grin. "I do. I understand." He got up, turned toward the door, then turned back. "But Hugh, you know, he was… he was a guy… and men, men have needs, you know?" Before she could speak he continued. "He did have someone, didn't he? Someone who filled that need?"

"He never dated anyone that I know of."

"Dated, schmated. It's just a word. Call it what you want. There was a woman in his life, and recently, wasn't there? He was, you know, he was happy. You said so yourself when we came in the other day."

"Are you saying men can only be happy if they're sexually satisfied?" Marla was cold when she asked the question.

Bobby smiled again. "It certainly helps. I've been thinking, you know, and I'm wondering if it wasn't that new girl…" he looked up at Marla. "You know, she didn't… didn't cut it here. She got fired soon after she started here. What was her name?"

"Do you mean Marsha Hicks?"

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "That's her name!" Bobby took a step closer to Faust and dropped his hands into his pockets. "Hugh had a few… talks with her, too, didn't he?"

Marla frowned, and shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose he may have."

"No, he did. His credit card receipts, they show that he was eating out more often… during the months she worked here. And right after." Bobby smiled at Faust. "You know, I bet I could just go to the restaurant, show her picture around, and his picture. Someone will recognize them. Thank you for giving me that idea, Ms. Faust. I'll get, uhm, out of your hair now."

Bobby was almost to the door when she spoke. "All right, don't waste your time. He was seeing her. The fact of the matter is, I caught them in a… compromising position here at the office and I had to let her go."

"But the records said she was fired for an accounting error."

"She did that, as well. I didn't want her to be embarrassed by the whole thing."

"You fired her… but not him?"

"Hugh had worked here a lot longer. Believe me, I gave him a dressing down for it."

"But not a formal reprimand."

"Like you said, Hugh was a friend. He helped me through a lot. I guess I was trying to return the favor."

Bobby nodded, and turned once more for the door. "You may want to, uh… speak with your supervisors about this… uhm, our report… you know, it will all come out in the open."

A look of dread washed over her, and Bobby left. He stopped to pick up lunch on the way back, a gyro for him and a big salad for Eames. She wasn't at her desk when he returned. He took the food out of the bag and set hers on her desk before starting to eat his.

She looked a little pale.

"I brought you lunch," he said.

"Thanks," she replied, and sat down, eying the salad warily.

He didn't say anything. He wanted to, but he didn't. Bobby ate his sandwich silently, glancing at her and trying not to stare.

Alex willed the little shooting pains in her intestines to the background and sighed. It had been thoughtful for Bobby to bring her lunch, and sick or not, she had to eat something. She opened the plastic container and put a crouton in her mouth. "Make any headway?"

Bobby nodded. "She all but admitted dating him, and I finally got her to admit that she caught Marsha with him in a compromising position at work."

"Marsha, Marsha, Marsha," Alex grinned, imitating a line from the Brady Bunch TV show. Bobby couldn't help but smile, too.

"You?" he asked.

"She's very upset by his death. I think she was in love with him. From looking at his credit cards, it seems that he was still seeing her up to the end." Alex tentatively took a bite and forced herself to swallow it. "Oh, and the autopsy report came in." Alex paused, closed her eyes, and grimaced a little.

"Look, why don't you go home?" Bobby blurted. He couldn't stand to see her sick.

Her eyes flew open. "It's just a little tummy-ache. I'll survive."

"Alex, there's no reason for you to push through this. I can work the case, get the Captain when I need some backup."

"Bobby, I'm all right. I'll decide if and when I need time off, okay? Now would you shut up and let me tell you about Rodger's report?" There was a bite in her tone, but he immediately forgave her for it. She was sick. Bobby shrugged and nodded, and Alex spoke. "The guy was allergic to peanuts. Something provoked anaphalactic shock, but there was no trace of peanuts in his digestive system."

Bobby cocked his head and considered what she'd said. "I've heard that just eating them in the same room as someone who is allergic could provoke a reaction."

"But everyone in his life knew that. He kept his apartment peanut-free. And besides, it most likely wouldn't have killed him before help arrived."

"Then maybe his death was… uh… unlikely. What about the cuts on his groin?"

"Painful, but not deadly. His attacker wanted him to suffer."

Bobby paused. "You're not saying he was killed?"

"The evidence suggests otherwise."

"Unless someone triggered his allergy."

Alex shook her head slowly. "It's gonna be hard to prove."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bobby was in and out for the rest of the afternoon. One minute he was reading his notes, the next he was ruminating over them, and the next he would flee to the elevator and land in the basement to pepper Dr. Rodgers with questions and ask about the plausibility of his theories.

Alex, on the other hand, stayed at her desk. Her intestinal pains were becoming more vicious, and she found herself in the bathroom more than once in the latter part of the day. When Bobby came skidding back after his third trip downstairs, she was wearing her coat and heading for home.

Her black coat was in stark contrast to the pallor of her face. She looked weary and uncomfortable. Bobby raised his hand to touch her arm gently. "You're going home?" he asked as he silently nodded his approval.

She nodded and stepped past him into the elevator. She raised a hand to wave goodbye to him, but said not a word.

Bobby stood in the hall, staring at the closed elevator doors. He was glad she'd decided to take care of herself, but he was full of concern for her.

Christmas was drawing closer. Alex needed her rest if she wanted any chance to enjoy the holiday. Bobby resolved to crack the case as quickly as possible.

He took the knowledge he'd gained from Rodgers and did some research on the computer. Then he contacted evidence. It took almost an hour to retrieve the evidence he needed, and it would take another day before the lab could process it.

Aggravated that he had not accomplished more, he closed his binder and called it a night.

* * *

><p>She was on his mind. Every ten minutes or so, his mind would take a respite from exploring the possibilities in the Paloma case. Then his thoughts would turn to Alex. He remembered how pale she'd been, and how little of her lunch she'd been able to eat. He wondered if she'd been able to keep it down.<p>

His hand was on his phone more than once, but his mind would go back to the Paloma case, to the office romances that ultimately led to Hugh Paloma's death.

There were just some lines that must not be crossed.

It was that way for him and Eames, as well. Bobby did not love her. She was his closest friend, and the finest partner he'd ever had. He cared for her deeply, and if it came down to it, he would sacrifice himself to save her without a moment's hesitation. But he could not love her.

So he found himself picking up the phone and torturing himself playing out the possibilities of calling her. Would a call to check on her cross that line? Or would that be acceptable within the parameters of their relationship?

In person, at work, it was easier. With her beside him in the car, or across from him in the bullpen, a concerned comment was acceptable, and meant nothing more than that: concern. Calling her after hours, from his home could be construed as much more.

At midnight he finally set the phone down and settled into bed for a fitful sleep.

* * *

><p>He didn't buy her anything for breakfast. Usually, she came in to a steaming cup of ridiculously sweet coffee and sometimes it was accompanied with a scone or a bagel. Bobby stopped for his own coffee in the frigid morning air, but he decided against buying her anything. He doubted she would be able to tolerate her usual fare.<p>

She was late again. His knee started to bounce under the table as he decided the evidence he'd sent to the lab was unlikely to provide the link he needed to solidify his case.

When the phone rang in his pocket, Bobby jolted in surprise. He dug it out of his trouser pocket and held it to his ear.

"Hello."

"I'm not coming in." Her voice was quivering.

"Bad?" he asked, closing his eyes to try and picture her as she spoke.

"I think we can safely say I have the flu." A chill went through her, and he heard her draw in a shaky breath through clenched teeth.

"Can I do something for you?" he asked, ready to make a drugstore run if she asked him to.

"Just close the case, Bobby. I'm sorry I can't help you with it."

"I'm almost there, I think. Do you need any food or anything?"

"I don't think I'll be eating for a while."

"Oh." He frowned, then had a new thought. "Ginger ale?"

"I think I should just go back to bed," she said. "I'll manage."

"You'll call me if you think of something?"

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

"Feel better, Alex." She hung up first, and he slowly replaced the phone in his pocket. Bobby frowned, wishing there was something he could do for her. He sighed, knowing there wasn't.

His mind replayed his last visit with Marla Faust. He closed his eyes and visualized every detail of her office: the hotel art, the window, the coat rack. His mind went back to the coat rack. More specifically, he thought of the coat on the rack.

The temperatures had been steadily below freezing for more than a week now. Although many women had multiple coats to compliment many different outfits, he doubted that was the case for Marla Faust. Several years struggling through bankruptcy had probably not allowed for the luxury of a large wardrobe.

He grabbed his wool coat and pulled it on. He was going to see her. With any luck, he could catch her before she went to work.

Captain Ross tried to stop him in the hall to get a quick update, but Bobby raised his hand in the air and spun in a circle while stammering something about being in a hurry to 'get there.'

Ross watched him disappear behind the elevator doors. Then he turned and headed for his office. He could catch up with Goren and Eames later.

* * *

><p>Her face fell when she saw him towering on her doorstep. "Uh, I'm just getting ready to leave for work."<p>

Bobby wormed his way into the warmth of her house. If Eames had been with him, she would have marveled at how smoothly he did it. Polite, slow, and with generous thanks for offering him inside (which the woman hadn't), he was across the threshold and looking down at her aggravated face.

"I just wondered if you always adopt a family at the high school for Christmas."

"Well—yes."

He smiled. "That's admirable. You know, especially with all the financial worries you have of your own, that you find a way, you know, to give to someone less fortunate."

"It helps me to c-count my blessings." She walked around him, opened the closet, and wrapped herself in her knee-length winter coat.

"That's a nice coat," he said, closing the closet for her after taking a long look. "D-do you always wear that coat in the winter?"

She finished buttoning it and held her hands up. "When it's cold. That's what it's for, right?" She turned away from him, sighing and shaking her head as she tugged her gloves over her fingers. "I have to go to work," she said.

"Oh, oh… sure." He held her front door open for her, then pulled it shut and marched down the porch steps of the duplex. Bobby spun back to her. "Have a nice day," he said cheerfully, smiling at her.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Alex awoke in the afternoon, a little disoriented. The morning had been a blur, a couple of unpleasant trips to the bathroom and then she'd fallen asleep under the covers and slept like a stone most of the day.

She rolled over and gasped at how sore her muscles were. She'd been thinking about trying to go to the kitchen and get a glass of water, but now it seemed like more effort than it was worth.

With tremendous willpower, she managed it. She drank two large gulps of water in the kitchen and managed to carry the glass back to the bedroom in a shaky hand. She wondered briefly how Bobby was doing with the case, and then sleep claimed her once more.

* * *

><p>Bobby had to wrangle with the ADA for a few hours before he was granted a search warrant. The warrant only specified the clothing, specifically outerwear, that Marla Faust had been wearing the night Hugh Paloma had died.<p>

She complained that she would have nothing to protect her from the elements on the way home, but Bobby was a step ahead of her. He'd already procured a warm coat for her on the department's bill. She accompanied the team to her apartment, and watched while they bagged all of the clothes from her hamper. For good measure, they took the thinner coats in her closet, but Bobby was confident what he needed would be found inside the woolen one she'd worn to work that day.

* * *

><p>Alex wasn't answering. Two days until Christmas, and she was as sick as a dog. Unable to get hold of her, Bobby's imagination went wild. He was worried.<p>

His brain rehashed the old argument about what was acceptable and what was not, but in the end, his worry got the best of him. He parked the Mustang on the curb and jogged to her door, only to find her keys frozen in the knob.

With one hand, he drew his weapon. With the other, he firmly pulled the keys from the lock and dropped them inside his coat pocket. Bobby kept his weapon in front of him and gently opened her door. He walked stealthily through the apartment, checking for intruders.

As quiet as he was, Alex heard movement. With her heart racing, she stretched out her hand and withdrew her backup piece from the nightstand. Too weak to search out her intruder, she pushed her back against the headboard and waited for the inevitable confrontation.

She steadied her arms in aim as her bedroom door opened slowly. All she saw was the weapon at first, a Glock just like her service piece. The weapon lowered and her door opened fully.

"Alex, thank God you're okay," Bobby breathed.

Her weary arms dropped to the mattress, the heavy gun useless under them. "Bobby, you scared the crap out of me."

He held up her keys. "You left them in the door, outside. Anybody could have come in here."

She closed her eyes, realizing he was right and thanking God for all the good people in the world, who didn't waltz into her apartment and rob, rape or kill her while she slept. Then Alex pooled her strength and went to retrieve the gun and replace it in the drawer.

Bobby's Glock was already in its holster. He took care of her backup piece for her, asking with his expression and following her pointing finger to the drawer in the nightstand where he tucked it away, safety on.

She was crawling back down under the sheet, savoring the softness of the mattress beneath her.

He straightened the twisted sheets and tucked her in, noting that though she was still pale, there was a flush in her skin tone that hadn't been there yesterday. He snuck the back of his hand in and felt her forehead.

"Well?" she demanded quietly.

"Feverish," he said. "How you doing?" Bobby lowered himself to sit on the mattress beside her prone body.

"Actually, I think I'm better. At least, I'm conscious and I don't feel like puking."

He smiled and gently drew her bangs away from her eyes. "What can I get you?" he asked.

"Water."

Happily, Bobby got to his feet and hurried to her kitchen, taking the stale glass of water from the nightstand with him.

He returned a few minutes later, and she peered at him from her nest of blankets. "Water, and soup," he announced.

"Oh, I don't think I can eat," she groaned as she slowly sat up.

"Humor me and try."

"You weren't here the last time I tried to eat something."

"That was a long time ago. You're feeling better now."

She drank deeply from the water, and then handed him the glass. Taking the cup of soup from his hand, she paused. The smell accosted her and she stared at it, wondering if she should risk it. Finally, Alex ate a spoonful of the soup, then a few more. At last, she handed Bobby the cup.

"If that comes back up, you're gonna have to clean up the mess," she warned him.

Bobby grinned. "Gladly," he said.

The next thing she knew, he was wiping her forehead, her cheeks, her neck with a cool washcloth. Alex arched her neck, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation.

"I was really worried about you," Bobby said quietly. "When you-you didn't answer."

"Phone died," she explained. "I was too tired to go find the charger."

He gave her a half-smile. "That explains it."

"Did you solve the case?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Marla. She gave him the kiss of death."

"Huh?"

"She had some peanut butter cookies in her coat pocket. She ate them, and then she kissed him."

"And the cuts?"

"After the kiss. She confessed to everything. She watched him struggling to breathe, and she told him how he'd disrespected her by dating Marsha, and then she cut him, adding to his agony in the minutes before he died."

Alex shivered, and Bobby moved to tuck the blankets tighter around her. She motioned him away. "I'm all right," she said. For a moment, the two stared at each other. Alex shook her head slightly. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I told you. I was worried."

"And now?"

"Now? I'm… relieved."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." His chocolate eyes locked onto hers. His mind ran through the old arguments again, and he finally shook his head, running his long fingers through his gray curls. "Where exactly is the line, Alex?"

"Huh?"

"The line… that can't be crossed."

Now her gaze burned against his. "Between us, you mean."

He nodded.

Alex shifted wearily and sighed. "Bobby, I think it's like that line where the ocean meets the sand. Constantly shifting."

He nodded again, in complete understanding. "I th-think so too."

Another few moments of intense staring followed, and then Alex spoke. "Thank you for clearing the apartment for me."

He shook off her gratitude. "You'd do the same for me."

"And for the soup."

Bobby smiled, and she smiled to see the twinkle in his eyes. "It's not making a reappearance," he said.

"I feel a lot better."

His hand closed over hers, and he gently stroked it with his large thumb. Finally, Bobby leaned over and pressed his lips to her hot forehead. "Good night, Eames," he said. "I'll call you in the morning."

"Night, Bobby," she said with a dreamy smile.

He turned off her light and made sure her kitchen was clean and everything she might need was within easy reach.

Then Bobby Goren locked himself out and drove a very cold Mustang home.


End file.
